“It might as well be…”

I think I’m having an early attack of Spring Fever.  And not the good kind, either.  Not the Frank Sinatra kind – I’m as restless as a willow in a windstorm/I’m as jumpy as a puppet on a string/I’d say that I had spring fever/But I know it isn’t spring…

No.  It’s more Ellen Bailey’s sort of Spring Fever.  She wrote of it in her poem “House Cleaning Blues” — I have the house cleaning blues/I look around nd see so much to do/I look at the walls, the windows, and the floors/I see heaps of dust layered like boards… 

I’m not precisely certain what brought on this onslaught of stressful thought.  It is true that we are expecting a spate of company in the next few weeks.  And, it is also true that the stains and spots on the carpet have been glaring up at me for some time and the furniture has gone far beyond my mother’s claim that “old houses need a little patina of dust.”  But under usual circumstnces I am successful at ignoring such annoying nudges.

“So,” I ask myself, “what is going on that I might be trying to avoid?”  For most of my eight decades on this planet, I’ve found that household and garden chores are usually accomplished when I want to disengage from something difficult.  Like a research project.  Or a writing task.  And, right now I have several such endeavors underway that could be considered culprits.  One is the beginnings of a book about chickens…

Wouldn’t you know?

 

 

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